PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR
By ErinRua
CHAPTER 4
"Fifty-seven slaves!" thundered Sir John Biltmore, and the chandelier overhead jingled. "That's how many escaped heaven knows where! And I've thirteen dead, twenty-two wounded, not to mention one of my own crew dead and five wounded. My cost for this cargo was over eight hundred pounds. Their worth at sale was to be thrice again that. Blessed heaven, man, I WILL be compensated!"
"Indeed you shall," Commodore Norrington said coolly. "It is my understanding that your cargo is amply insured."
The interview presently underway took place in Norrington's austere office, but it was highly likely all of Fort Charles was aware of the slaver captain's ire. Governor Swann stood with his face to a tall window and his back to the current argument, but Will Turner felt his own lingering headache intensify to imagine the turmoil within the man's mind. Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth, caught in the midst of a slave revolt - Will's heart froze to think of it. Biltmore, however, thought only of his lost profit.
"Insurance!" the big man boomed. "Insurance will not cover those who are damaged and useless and it takes weeks to compensate! Meanwhile I lose part of the revenue this venture was meant to turn. I have buyers in Port Paix promised a cargo that I may not be able to meet in full - because that woman was allowed to interfere with my business!"
His meaty forefinger jabbed rigidly at Elizabeth, hovering near her father. "In one instant she inflamed Africans I spent weeks bringing to a docile and manageable state!"
Shoes scraped on tile as Governor Swann turned an expression of angry disbelief towards Biltmore. "How dare you blame Elizabeth for the actions of your own slaves!"
"How dare I?" Biltmore drew his heavy form erect in defiance. "With my own eyes I watched six of those murderous savages surround your daughter and her swain, yet with no more than a word she turned them aside." His features grew florid and hard. "Tell me, Governor, how long has she been involved in anti-slavery sedition?"
In the sudden stunned silence the air temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. Elizabeth's mouth fell open in shock, but her father spoke first.
"That is a charge as infamous as it is absurd."
"Then explain the marvelous coincidence that she is there to distract my men, just when my cargo breaks out in rebellion!"
Finding her tongue at last, Elizabeth cried angrily, "I did no such thing! I was there to help a dying girl, which is more than your black heart can possibly fathom."
Biltmore's lip curled. "Young ladies should be taught their place, miss. Be glad I don't teach you with a harness strap!"
"You will not!" Will was two long steps forward before he knew he had decided to move, but once there he held Biltmore's seething gaze without flinching.
"Governor Swann," said Biltmore ponderously. "Is there no one here whom you can control?" His eyes narrowed. "Or should I look for your own complicity in this?"
"Sir John!" Norrington barked, and then dropped his voice to hard steel. "Remember to whom you speak."
"I forget nothing," Biltmore rumbled, dropping his hand to the ornate sword at his side. "Mark my words, I forget nothing."
"Good," Swann replied thinly. "Then you will understand why I will urge the shipyard to complete your refitting and see you on your way with all haste."
"I would certainly hope so," Biltmore replied.
His frigid gaze swept over Elizabeth and Will like prodding cold fingers, before returning to the two older men. Though he remained physically composed, the sense of barely-contained violence surrounded him like a fume.
"Commodore," he said, "I trust measures are in place for the return of my escapees?"
"I have soldiers and marines searching by land and sea as we speak," Norrington replied. "If your … cargo are to be found, we will find them."
"See that you do," Biltmore replied and took a step back. "Good day."
Biltmore's exit seemed to suck a black cloud from the room. As his footsteps clapped smartly away Governor Swann sagged and braced his knuckles on Norrington's polished table.
"The absolute audacity of that man," Swann said. "His father is a good man, but … Elizabeth, I am so sorry you were privy to that."
Softly she laid her fingers on his sleeve. "It's all right, Father."
The commodore studied the older man and his face softened in compassion.
"Take heart, my lord. Miss Swann is safe, thanks apparently in large part to Mister Turner's quick actions -." Will looked up in surprise as Norrington continued, "And with any luck we will be rid of Sir John Biltmore within a few days."
"I pray so," Swann said tiredly. "If you have no more questions for Elizabeth, then, I think I shall take her home and get us both a nice, quiet cup of tea."
"Of course, sir."
The governor, Elizabeth and Will walked down the stone corridor in silence, glad to step outside into the warm golden haze of late afternoon. There Swann paused and stared sightlessly across the harbor.
"I was remiss as a father to permit Elizabeth to so much as enter that auction yard. I should never have agreed that she could go back."
The girl blinked wide brown eyes, and then her delicate brows drew down sternly. "Father -."
"Nonetheless …" Swann's grey wig nearly matched the weary pallor of his face as he turned to Will. "You have my thanks, Mister Turner, for bringing my daughter out safely."
"Thank you, sir." Will gave a small bow - carefully, so as not to jostle the ache lurking behind the knot on the back of his head. "I also regret that she was so endangered."
"Oh, for pity's sake!" Elizabeth burst out. "I have had just enough of people talking about me as if I'm either not here, deaf, or of no consequence. Father, I am not sorry I offered a moment of kindness to that poor girl. My only regret is that it could not be enough." She lifted her chin regally and added, "He is a dreadful and uncouth man, and I begin to think his choice of profession is a clear indicator of his lack of character, and his crew are bloody ruffians."
"Elizabeth," chided the governor. "Language, dear."
"Yes, Father. But there are much stronger words that could be applied to men who deliberately withhold care from the sick and injured. Tell me, Will, could you not find stronger language?"
Feeling that standing between the governor of Jamaica and his daughter was probably not the safest ground, Will met her liquid gaze with what he hoped was his best neutral expression.
Mustering a smile, he said, "That would hardly be proper, Miss Swann."
Elizabeth gave him a look that could have scorched steel. "Proper, my eye. I am now convinced that the men who captain slave ships are the dregs of the earth, worse even than pirates, and I would as soon drown them as look at them."
"I understand your sentiments, my dear," said Governor Swann primly. "But as long as the peculiar institution is permitted by the Crown, it must be endured."
Her blazing brown eyes said what she thought of that, but before she could fire another verbal volley Swann turned and offered his daughter a small smile.
"Ah, look at the time. I'm sure we are keeping Mister Turner from his duties. Come, Elizabeth. Good day, Mister Turner."
"Good day, sir. Miss Swann."
Will stood watching as they descended the stone steps and made their way to the carriage waiting below. Releasing a long, heart-felt sigh he looked outward to blue water gilded in gold, an endless moving tapestry of color that reached out to the hazy infinity of the horizon.
"Well," he said to himself. "For a blacksmith you certainly run afoul of some interesting people."
Nevertheless, with any luck this would be the end of relations with Sir John Biltmore for all of them, and any part of his unhappy affairs. Comforting himself with that thought, he set his feet towards home and supper.
***
The following days passed as days in the Caribbean do, golden and slow as the turning of the tides. Gossip said that all but ten of Biltmore's escaped slaves were found, and those were presumed to have made it to the main island to disappear among the Blue Mountains. Most suspected they would find refuge hiding amongst the maroons said to lurk in the hills, escaped slaves or those released when the Spaniards fled the island, which now lived fugitives' lives deep in the tropical forests. However, what comforted the more timid souls of Port Royal most was the assurance that they were in no danger of being attacked in their sleep by hordes of ravening savages.
Now as night settled its blue velvet cloak upon the island, the waters of Port Royal Harbor dulled like cooling steel. Along the town's warmly-shadowed streets shopkeepers closed their doors, and within a certain blacksmith shop Will Turner likewise readied to end his day. Quick strokes of a broom swept charcoal dust and bits of filings into a neat pile and the ruddy glow of the cooling forge found its only companion in the form of a single lantern. Master Brown had already gone home and Will yawned at the thought of retiring to his own humble room.
Yet even with the pleasant weariness of a good day's labor dulling his thoughts, he heard the faint click of the door latch. He paused with his broom in hand but the door did not open. Giving a shake of his head he nearly dismissed it as imagination - until he saw the latch slowly lifting to the press of a hand outside. Master Brown would have marched in like he owned the place - which in fact he did - and a customer would have walked in like, well, a customer, thus whoever was out there could mean only mischief.
Will laid aside the broom and on cat feet he back-stepped to lift down a newly-finished sword hanging nearby. The door began to move, easing open and he silently followed its movements into shadows against the wall. With only a faint creak the door swung inward - those were well-made hinges and kept properly oiled - and he heard the softest scuff of a foot beyond. His heart thudding in his throat he waited, sword poised.
A figure stepped within - and Will moved in one long stride.
"Stand!" he said, and swept razored steel to rest under the intruder's chin. "State your business or I'll have your head, it matters not to me."
"Will, me boy," drawled a curiously-slurred and yet familiar voice. "Is this how you greet old friends?"
For a beat Will could only stare in shock at the shadowed face of a man he had not thought to see in Port Royal - or possibly anywhere else - again. He wore the same battered tricorn hat on his head, the same absurd trinkets braided in his hair, and his black eyes gleamed mischief above a familiar roguish, gold-toothed grin. Here stood the fugitive pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow.
"You!" That single word was infused with a multitude of sentiments ranging from delight to near-panic.
"Got it on the first try, mate. At least it looked suspiciously like me last I checked." Sparrow lifted a fingertip to delicately press back the blade still at his throat, and eyed it appraisingly. "Lovely work, that. Must be one of yours. Now do let me in."
Jack took one step, Will made a twist of the wrist and the sword deftly evaded Jack's hand and returned to tickle the wee braids at his chin. Sparrow stopped, sighed, and met Will's challenging stare with a pained look.
"Really, son, I thought we were past all this."
"Why are you here? If you're found, you'll be shot on sight! And that's if you're lucky."
"I've a good reason, actually." With a sudden twisting move Jack was under the blade and in the room and half-a-dozen steps away, perusing the dimly-lit shop with a satisfied smile. "I'm 'ere on business."
"I don't believe you." Casting a glance of aggravation, Will nonetheless pushed the door closed. "If the watch is out looking for you, I must warn you, our previous association is well-known and this will be the first place they look."
"Will, Will." Sparrow faced him and spread his arms as if baring proof of his innocence. "You must learn to think better of me. I want to give you a commission. I'll even pay."
Will's eyes narrowed as he found himself following Sparrow's swaying gait around the shop. Jack never could keep his hands still, and to Will's disconcertion the pirate's nimble fingers were touching virtually everything as he wandered, a practice the blacksmith almost instantly found nerve-wracking.
"Pay with what?"
He frowned as Jack punctuated his next words with a tap to each of several swords hanging completed in their rack.
"Coin. Lucre. Specie. Good British sterling, me boy. I'm flush as a prince at the moment. Well-nigh gentry. I might even be fit to have tea with."
"Are you drunk?"
Sparrow spun around so quick Will narrowly avoided collision and grinned. "Not yet."
Steel sang from its scabbard and Will backpedaled with his own sword on guard. But the pirate simply swung his cutlass up to rest on his shoulder. There Sparrow cocked one hip and pursed his lips in a meditative frown.
"I'm 'avin' a thought 'ere, Will. Bein' as I'm master of me own ship and a terror on the high seas and temporarily rich as Croesus, I thought it would be only fitting if I had a sword to match me status."
"You're mad, Jack."
"Of course I am, but hear me out." Jack stepped back, turned, and with a flourish launched into a quick, whirling series of guards and thrusts. "This is a good blade and true and I'll not put 'er aside completely." He brought his cutlass up in salute, and then turned it to lean on it like a cane and gave Will an unctuous smile. "But a man of my stature needs something … finer. So I says to meself, says I, who do I know with the expertise and discretion for the job, and of course I thought of me old friend Will Turner!"
Quick fingers stopped just short of tapping Will's chest and Will made a wry face as the hand withdrew. "Being your friend could shorten a man's lifespan."
"Now, sour grapes, mate. See, what I had in mind was a sword like this - but not like."
A final steely flourish and cheeky grin, and then Jack brought both heels together, placed the cutlass across his open palms and held it out for inspection. "I fancy the guard and the blade and the balance is good, but I want something … pretty. A new sword on this model, you might say, perhaps with bit of gold on the hilt? Inlays on the handle, bit of filigree on the blade. Maybe a shiny stone here and there, eh?"
Almost against his will the young blacksmith found himself drawn to the bare steel in Jack's hands, his practiced eye appraising what he saw. Although of dark, unadorned steel and bearing the tiny nicks of long use, he could see the utilitarian quality of the older blade. But even as he looked he could imagine a new short sword in its place. Just a slight elaboration to make a modest basket hilt - with inlays, of course, and a gold wire could be used to wrap black leather on the grip, maybe a fuller grooved down the blade to keep it light and quick in the hand, perhaps a cabochon on the pommel …
"Splendid, then you'll do it!"
Will flinched as Jack swept the cutlass up and away and into its scabbard.
"I said no such thing!"
"Of course not." Sparrow waved dismissively as he once more sauntered about the room. "First we must agree on a price, then we must agree on all the specifications, and of course set a date of delivery - mind you, I may need to have it shipped …" his hand described a nebulous direction in midair, "elsewhere, given the nature of me business, but I promise you I have the coin right in me pocket, so the rest is naught but technicalities."
"I don't want your blood money, Jack."
His shoes scuffed sharply as Will turned away, suddenly feeling foolish for having a naked sword in his hand and foolish for having this absurd conversation. Turning away from Sparrow he stalked across the room to hang his sword back up. Jack cast an aggrieved look at his back.
"Blood money? Boy, I promise you this money is bloodless as a turnip." He cocked his head for an instant's thought. "A trifle sweaty, perhaps, the chubby gent who contributed to its gain seemed a bit warm at the time, but I swear to you there was not one least ickle drop of blood involved."
Will sighed and then turned to face him, his expression gentling to a reluctant smile. Quietly he said, "You shouldn't be here, Jack. I'm glad to see you, but it's your death if you're found."
Jack bent forward to reply in a conspiratorial tone, "Ah, but I won't be found, now will I, mate?"
A knock thudded at the door. For an instant both men froze, looking at each other. Jack was just a shape among the shadows where he now stood. Nor could Will read anything in those fathomless black eyes, set in face suddenly gone blank as stone. Sparrow simply stared back silently, watching him, waiting in perfect stillness.
So Will went to the door. And opened it to find Commodore Norrington standing in the soft night just outside. Several paces behind him stood four red-coated Royal Marines.
***
TBC …